


Adoption

by Moreena



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Adoption, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Post-Endless Waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/pseuds/Moreena
Summary: Trowa and Quatre adopting a child, because sometimes every family needs more members.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noelleian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/gifts).



> Random snippet of domestic stuff. I'm on a kids in fics kick, and this is a present. Been a LONG while since I did something for someone else.

It had been such a long wait. So much paperwork, and so much time. Quatre had handled all of the legal things, the blonde not above utilizing WEI’s legal department to accomplish his goals. While it was just for himself and Trowa, the PR it generated for the company… For the orphan movement. It was un-paralleled, and not even Relena could have done better.

It had all stemmed from a late-night conversation that had happened after a night of them making love until the early hours of the day. Quatre had mentioned it. How they had so much going for them, how their lives were rather stable. How he’d donated money to another charity for orphans of the war, and how just seeing pictures had made him want to do more. The recent press visit of the ESUN to one of the largest orphanages had made it even worse. Just seeing the children, the infants… Yes, they were cared for and loved, but it wasn’t enough. They had this inherent sadness about their eyes and faces.

Trowa had been the one to really run with it. Even knowing his history, Quatre’s heart still broke a little when Trowa referenced that time, when he was alone, a child mercenary. He’d been lucky to find his sister, to actually have a family to call his own. Hundreds of others weren’t so lucky. He wanted to take Quatre’s dream and make it a reality. For themselves, and for others.

So, they’d talked, and debated. Had small fights when their tempers ran too hot. Quatre would retreat into his work to cool his mind and his tongue, while Trowa would work out, or go to the gun range at Preventers and shoot until the muscles in his arms screamed in protest and didn’t want to remain upright any more. But, they’d always return home and make up, sometimes physically first, then breakdown where things had gone wrong.

All of their talking, the months of waiting had paid off. While the baby wasn’t a direct product of the war, she was unwanted. The mother had signed away all rights, and wanted to never see her baby again, and didn’t want to know a thing. They had hoped and prayed and crossed fingers and toes that they’d get her, that they’d get that phone call.

When it had come in, Quatre had nearly dropped the phone. Trowa had appeared, as if summoned by magic, leaning into Quatre’s back so he could hear the words himself. He felt Quatre’s huge inhale of breath before the blonde said yes, they’d be right over. They were more than ready.

Quatre was still in half his suit, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his tie long gone. Trowa was in clean jeans and a black shirt, looking as close to casual as Quatre felt. His hands were shaking as he drove, too nervous and impatient to wait on a driver. They’d agreed to be more hands on anyway. No need for drivers and nannies or maids if they didn’t actually need them. They wanted to raise a well-rounded child, despite the Winner name that would be attached to her.

They were shown into a private room with an advocate from the agency. She stayed silent in the corner with the last of the paperwork they’d have to sign before they took her home. She was so small, wrapped in a blanket and sterile-looking pajamas from the hospital. They’d fix that when they got home, of course. They took turns holding her, cuddling her close… Cooing at her in soft voices while the other was holding her. It was so sweet; it would have made anyone want to tear their teeth out to prevent cavities.

“What’s her name? The birth mother didn’t even give her one,” the advocate spoke up after letting them bond.

She hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but they all would have been better bonding at home. They exchanged glances, neither of them having given any thought to that. They’d wrongfully assumed she would at least had a first name. Trowa looked at Quatre, his deep green eyes searching, asking if Quatre trusted him. The answer was obvious.

“We’ll call her Solaris.”

Quatre chuckled a little at the name, considering what they’d done all those years ago, or what felt like forever. He worked with the advocate, filling in all the paperwork, signing most of it, leaving the places for Trowa to sign, taking the baby from him and strapping her into the car seat they’d bought while Trowa finished up. Then, they were done and whisked her away, Quatre climbing into the back seat to sit next to her while Trowa drove.

 

It was easy to fall into a pattern. Quatre would put her down at night, and get up for the early morning feeding, and Trowa would get up in the middle of the night. It was a good system. The weekends varied, of course. Quatre had been up with her most of Friday night, knowing Trowa was tired from getting up so often during the week. He was tired though, and the bags under his eyes told the story that newborns were no fun. Now he knew why women relied on coffee so heavily.

The sun was just peeking up when the baby monitor crackled to life. Trowa cracked an eye open and sighed heavily. Quatre heard it too and stretched, already pulling the blankets back with the intention of getting up.

“Stay. I’ll get up with her this time,” Trowa said, propping himself up to kiss Quatre’s forehead.

Quatre let out a yawn and nodded, sleepily pulling the blankets back over himself, asleep before he’d even laid back down. Trowa chuckled and climbed out of bed, stretching, feeling his back shift and pop as he moved. He padded across the hall to the nursery, leaning in to scoop up the little pink bundle. She’d grown in the past month, but she was still so small. Trowa sometimes felt like a giant when he held her.

Humming softly, he changed her diaper, pressing little kisses to her stomach, his fall of hair tickling at her, making her smile. That’s what he’d say anyway. When she was clean, he took her into the kitchen and made a bottle, taking her back to the nursery to feed her. He settled into the glider rocking chair they’d bought in white to match the soft pink of the room. Slowly, he rocked back and forth, still humming a nameless tune as Solaris worked at her bottle. When she’d finished, he held her against his shoulder on a burp cloth and got her to burp. She liked to be stubborn sometimes. Trowa was just thankful she didn’t spit up all over him like she had a habit of doing in the middle of the night. He usually wound up shirtless before he went in. Just easier to wipe off his chest with a baby wipe than having to strip off a shirt.

He kept rocking, cradling his daughter on his chest, his eyes growing heavy. He should put her back in the crib and rejoin Quatre in bed. But he was so comfortable and warm… The sun was slitting through the curtains just right, warming his chest. It would be so much effort to get up. Without his control, he was asleep, one arm under the baby, the other a gentle hand on her back.

It was where Quatre found them four hours later, when he’d woken up, slightly alarmed that the bed was empty, and the monitor hadn’t gone off. Solaris was a stickler for her schedule. She wanted her food right when it was time and not a minute later. It was something they’d learned rather quickly in their short time as parents. As quick as he could, Quatre snapped a picture of the sleeping pair, planning to share it with their friends at a more reasonable hour of the day. Relishing the moment, he took his time looking at their daughter. He wondered if her blonde hair would stay, or would fade out to a darker brunette color as she grew. Would her eyes stay blue or turn? 

Sitting on the floor next to his husband and sleeping child, he couldn’t wait to see which of them she looked like when she was older. Quatre rested his head on Trowa’s knee, sighing happily. He wouldn’t trade his little family for anything. Not even more sleep.


End file.
